


The Secret Heart

by Le_Creationist



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Romance, slight mention of Kili/Tauriel, slight mentions of events in The Silmarillion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4434674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Creationist/pseuds/Le_Creationist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A daring rescue from the Enchanted River in Mirkwood results in temporary amnesia for Thranduil. Tauriel is recently demoted from the Guard as punishment for her disobedience during the Battle of the Five Armies, yet she finds herself at her ailing king's side. What lies dormant in the secret heart may come to light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a drabble for a tumblr imagine that entails Thranduil being secretly in love with Tauriel. I struggled with keeping this short! Also, Silmarillion and A Song of Ice and Fire references abound. The only Sindarin word I’ve used here is “Reitho” which is a cry for help. This takes place a while after BoTFA and requires a little reading in between the lines, since the strict word count limit prevented me from going into great depth.
> 
> Any and all feedback is welcome, and most definitely appreciated.

“Reitho! _”_  The shouting resounded through the Halls. All who heard gave pause to their activity and sought from whence the commotion came. A small crowd gathered at the tall doors, opened wide to receive the King’s retinue. Feren, Captain of the Guard, led his soldiers inside. “Send for the lady Nestadeth at once!”

Tauriel watched from the winding bridge above. The King’s party comprised of ten soldiers on horseback. Her breath caught in her throat when she beheld Thranduil unsteadily seated on his mount, the Rhovanion elk he so favored. It stepped into a gentle halt only when the doors behind it were pulled shut.

Thranduil slumped forward against the beast’s neck, unconscious. Before the small crowd could stir itself into true panic, Feren wisely ushered his soldiers and king away to the privacy of the royal quarters. Before she knew her own mind, Tauriel broke into a swift run. She cursed her gown, wishing she was allowed her old captain’s shirt and breeches for their ease.

She arrived at the king’s antechamber, breathless and tense. Feren and Galion were in hushed conversation within. She lingered by the door, close but out of sight.

“His Majesty rode past his vanguard when he saw a child at the mouth of the Enchanted River. The child’s father fell—by what madness the king was overtaken I do not know. He leaped into the water to save the father and stayed awake long enough to pull him to safety.” Feren never looked so distraught.

“What remedy exists for such prolonged exposure? None who’ve fallen in that corrupted river come away with their minds intact.” Galion lamented.

Tauriel waited until a lull in their discussion before she came forth.

“Is the king…?” Her voice died at their grave expressions.

“Tauriel, you should not be here.” The captain said.

She ignored him. “Let me see him, I beg you.” No doubt Feren was taken aback by her strange desperation. To him, Tauriel was but dirt beneath the king’s boot. No wonder her concern seemed bizarre. Unbeknownst to all but her, it was the memory of another that compelled her. Warm, laughing eyes and the promise in a simple runestone. She could not stomach  _another_  loss.

Nestadeth sat at the king’s bedside, pressing a damp cloth to his temples. His sleep was troubled. Tauriel’s presence unsettled the healer at first. At Nestadeth’s questioning glance, Feren just shook his head.

“His Majesty slumbers. It is common among victims of the river.” The healer’s voice was curt. Many wounds had she tended, though none quite like this.

“How long will he remain in this state?” Tauriel asked. She was transfixed by the candlelight upon the king’s pale skin. “What have you done for him?”

Nestadeth pursed her lips. “All that I can. There’s nothing more to do than wait for him to awaken.”

They left her there not long after. Tauriel hardly realized she was alone. Contemplating the slope of the king’s forehead and nose, Tauriel knew this was the only circumstance where she could bring herself to directly look at him after her mutiny.

Thranduil took care not to come into her presence often. Tauriel did not fault him for it. Sharp words left deep wounds in them both. She was stripped of her title and rank but her banishment was lifted. The nobility sneered at her humiliation. Still, there were many who looked at her with unvoiced deference. Tauriel spoke truth to power and watched her king rise to the occasion. Leading sorties against the fell creatures, it became clear why Thranduil needed no ring of power. No warrior could eclipse his prowess, none could challenge his reign.

_Awaken,_  she silently willed him.

* * *

She heard him stir in the darkness. She hurriedly lit a lantern and watched his startled features come to life. Tauriel never saw the king so discomposed.

“Water…please.” He murmured. She filled a glass and took it to him. He drank deeply before she accepted the empty glass back and set it on the nearby table.

“My lord, you’ve slept for nigh on six days.” It was all she could think to say. She wanted to take his hands, stupidly, giddily. He grasped the thick duvet that covered him and pulled it closer. Without his array of rings, it was easy to see he had beautifully shaped hands.

“Six days?” Thranduil repeated, resting upright against the cushions. Something was  _wrong_. “I cannot recall the course of events that resulted in my convalescence.”

Uncertainty colored his speech. Tauriel sat at his bedside again.

“There was an attack on our western border. You saved a drowning man from the Enchanted River.” It tumbled from her mouth. She could not understand what she felt—grief, hate, love, it all fused into some raw, pulsing thing that threatened to overcome her.

The king frowned in confusion. “Who are you?” Thranduil asked. She knew not how to respond, whether his condition was real or if he was testing her. She bristled at her foolishness then. The king was never so willingly open with anyone.

“I am Tauriel, my lord.” She watched his hands unclench from the fabric.

“Tauriel.” The way he pronounced her name brought tears to her eyes. How many centuries had it been since he’d said her name so kindly? Since it had been benediction in his tone rather than order or command?

Nestadeth ceased her visits since Tauriel stayed with him. He spoke of the elder days, of Doriath and Melian and Thingol’s court before its collapse. His memory of that time was pristine. She had no difficulty imagining the scenes he painted with his words.

“In Doriath dwelt  _she_ with hair like autumn.” The king mused quietly one day. Tauriel’s eyes flew to his face. “She was called Elenya, companion of Beleg Strongbow. Her hair streamed behind her like Arien’s flame as she rode. Her joy in the hunt was unrivalled.”

“What became of her?” Pain long hidden surfaced in his glance at her blunt query.

“When Beleg Cúthalion fell by Turin’s hand, she gave into despair. She perished in the first sacking of Menegroth.” Thranduil’s voice was low as he recounted the autumn maiden’s fate.

Tauriel took her king’s hand. He stared at their interlocked fingers and it made her ask, “Did you love her?” Her heart picked up a thrumming cadence against her sternum.

Piercing blue eyes met hers. It was impossible to breathe. Perhaps the king was himself all along and truth was disguised in each exchange. Kíli perished as Beleg had, but she was no Elenya. She was made stronger all the more. 

Strong enough to hear his answer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I couldn't help writing more. I wrote this very quickly so let me know of any errors or inconsistencies please. :) I appreciate all feedback!

The King was strong enough to stand, to walk, on his own. Tauriel had no duties to keep her away. She was anchored to him despite attempts to coax herself elsewhere, aimless as the falling leaves scattered on the forest paths.  They walk through the night when neither can sleep, walk and walk. Some nights they did not speak at all.

This night, Tauriel noticed how the King would look sidelong at her before turning away. He seemed restive. The cicada song faded in and out from the boughs on high. The sound drew a faint smile to her lips. It was her childhood. Her mother’s lullabies. Her father when he scolded her sister and her for staying awake past the midnight hour.  Tauriel sobered as she walked on. The sweetness of that time was something she had to ration, lest it dissipate completely. There was no joy in the thought of how those days came to an abrupt end.

Watching her King from the corner of her eye, Tauriel wondered how it must feel to lose a facet of ones’ self. Nestadeth advised her that speaking of his past was better treatment than any remedy she could administer. Tauriel had done just that—she learned so much from the King’s own telling. What she'd learned of his past had mostly come from fanciful tales or simple happenstance.

“Why is it that I so rarely leave the caverns?” Thranduil asked. The innocence of his queries almost always prevented her from suspending her disbelief. How could this be the formidable monarch she’d once served? His eyes were raised skyward to where the dark trees parted slightly. She knew what it was that captured his awe.

“The forest is perilous, my lord. By your directive, we remain within our walls to protect ourselves.”  She tried to keep her tone neutral but the king was perceptive. They slowed to a stop and he turned to her. In the obscurity, his eyes were like mirrored glass. “You disapprove of this.” Thranduil remarked. When he looked away, Tauriel breathed a sigh of relief. Although the waters of the river liberated him from his cynicism, she still reeled at the changes.

There was no need to lie. She lost her beloved to the darkness that would consume the world. Let this king bear the brunt of his decree’s consequences. “Had we taken action sooner, so many needless deaths could have been prevented. Instead, we let it _fester_. Until this.” Her speech brimmed with accusation and she motioned to the air around them, so thick with malice. The cicada song ceased. It left a vacuum of silence between king and former captain. A spike of loathing arose in her—against herself, the Orc that dealt the killing blow, how her king let those Orcs cross their borders and slaughter with impunity.

Again, Thranduil fixed his gaze upon her. Tauriel almost could not bear to look. She was suddenly back on a cobbled street in the ruins of Dale, facing him down with the bow and arrow she was no longer allowed to wield. How she relished the shock that broke through his icy mask, then resigned herself to die for the love he claimed was false. Tauriel swallowed back the rage that threatened to consume her. It only ever surfaced when she was with him.

“My sins must be grave indeed to earn your condemnation.” He murmured. Something overhead caught his attention and he turned once more to the visible sky between the treetops. Perhaps it was no easier for him to look at her than it was for her to be observed. Tauriel followed his example. She was immediately stricken by what she saw.

“My lord Thranduil?” The taste of his regal name never quite settled on her tongue. It was something to be reserved. Names of sacred things were to be rationed too. _Thranduil._ It sounded as beautiful in her mind as it did aloud.

“My lord, there is something I believe you should see.”

The king nodded wordlessly. Still discomfited by the ease with which she could order him about, she motioned for him to come with her. Feren had been reluctant to let the king anywhere near her. In the end, Thranduil disregarded his captain’s counsel. His condition left him vulnerable to the discovery of his kingdom’s wreckage. Tauriel wanted him to fully understand the cost of doing nothing.

They came to the base of a sturdy birch tree. She leapt up nimbly to catch the lowest hanging branch and lever herself upward, casting a glance down at him. He followed suit with agility that belied his usual deliberateness of movement. Branch after branch they climbed. Her blood roared in her ears and she felt alive with the effort it took to gain the height they needed. The wood was rough beneath her palms, callused though they were as she was long accustomed to this. Not even the skirts of her plain dress could impede her momentum. Thranduil kept pace not far below her.

Soon enough, the pair burst through the canopy and stood on the highest branches. What they’d seen of the sky from the forest floor was nothing compared to how it appeared unbounded in all its glory.

“We are but dust in the wind compared to them.” The Elvenking whispered of the heavens. She saw how he trembled. Perhaps the stars did not shine so brightly in the long years of what memory he retained. “A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon.” His invocation may have kindled her fury if he had spoken it earlier. Under the stars, she felt her sorrow ease. She wondered what filled his mind. If it was grief for the ancient kingdoms of his youth or remorse for how that grief had numbed him to the suffering of others. The starlight illuminated them both. Even without his crown and finery, outfitted as a commoner, he was resplendent. The ravages of time did not exist where they were.

“I have often come here,” Tauriel choked, blinded by sudden tears she could not stop from falling. “Beyond the forest and up into the night. It is here that the world falls away and the white light of forever fills the air.” Rather than fight it, she recalled to whom she spoke these exact words not so very long ago.

He gently dried her tears, his warm palm resting upon her cheek. The night wind ushered her into his touch and she let herself lean against him. Fear and doubts could not cripple her now. In the eyes of her people, she was disgraced and broken. In the arms of this king, below Varda’s glimmering mantle, she was reborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin Translation:
> 
> “A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon.”
> 
> “O Star-queen Starkindler from firmanent gazing afar, to thee I cry.”


End file.
